Almost Happy

Like every Thursday morning at rush-hour the station was filled with people running from here and there, dressed for work, bustling about. More people in suits than she dared to count. She watched the businessmen walking in a determined pace, steady, back straight and goal directed. Some were already talking in their phones in loud convincing voices, waving their hands agitatedly. The more anxious the less dignified they seemed. Those who were running appeared even less so, but the worst were those who walked with slumped shoulders. Their step lagged a little slow. Their eyes at the ground. Their impression meek. They made her smile curiously: the failures, the weak. She supposed it was because they made her feel like she belonged. She understood them.

Dora was sitting just outside the coffee shop watching people come and go. The people seemed to come like waves, rushing in when a train arrived and then the hall thinned again, She felt oddly weightless with no set path or direction. Being at the station was oddly pointless. She was surrounded by those who had a destination in mind, or those who were waiting for someone to arrive. They had a purpose. Not everyone might love their purpose, but at least they had one. Behind her people were filing up in line to get their morning coffee shot. There was barely any talking among the customers even though the baristas shouted orders and chattered while doing their job. She supposed it was because the line consisted out of individuals, rather than pairs or groups. There was an outside common connection necessary to talk, more than the connection of waiting together in line to get coffee. The baristas were a group, they saw each other often, they had a purpose together. The individuals on the other side of the counter were mere singulars in the large number of people that passed through every day. In a small town coffee shop in it would be different. There the regulars would be familiar faces and greeted with a smile or a nod. Here getting coffee was mass production. Don’t worry, we are just passing through, purposeful.

She held her cup tighter, as she sipped it, She missed a cigarette to complete her breakfast, but sadly at train stations smoking was prohibited. Thus, she simply remained still while she drank and observed the people and let her thoughts meander further in a comfortable pace. She felt stripped of all hurry as she watched the minutes pass on the large clock. As her gaze wandered she caught sight of a couple holding hands. Something about them struck her deeply. To her it seemed that the rest of the world ought to be grey and motionless around them. As it could never compare to them. The girl had long curled blonde hair which lay loosely over her shoulders and a tall slender built. Her face was shaded by her hat which had a large round rim. She wore long, beige ,flared trousers and a light-brown jacket. The girl was holding hands with a guy equally tall with long hair and dressed in black. He had a serious looking face which looked handsome and demure. The couple stood out from the rest. One reason being simply their beauty. Both were exceptionally beautiful. There are a lot of pretty people around, but true beauty is a rarity, and yet now there were two standing hand in hand, looking quite lost together. Which was the second reason they stood out. There was a certain sadness about these two beautiful people together. They stood close held together, because of their uncommonness they seemed afraid of wandering too far. Truly beautiful people can only end up together. Everyone else struck in their will both admire them and will be pushed away. It feels like a reminder of their own inadequacy and imperfection. It is the unachievable. The light that shines too brightly that is painful to see. And if two truly beautiful people found each other they best not let go, as no-one else again will meet their standards. And that was how they stood, alone together, scared and lost.

Dora watched them pass and breathed out. She unclenched her fists. Her cup was empty and she got up. As she passed by a window she glanced at her reflection. She was well aware of her mediocre face. Her eyes were fairly deep that she seemed tired very often. People would never stare at her both in awe and fear. She felt grateful for that at least. In the right sort of light she could be pretty, but no more than that. She smiled at herself, and slowly felt the sadness that had built up subconsciously wash away.

** Title is borrowed from the song "Almost Happy" by K's choice.

The road not taken

(my last post about paths or futures in a while, promise ;))

Sometimes I am struck by a sense of nostalgia when looking back at choices made. I wonder about “what if”. These fantasies are not painful. I do not regret.

Well, that is a lie. I do regret. Saying that I don’t wish I had been more sensitive or less sensitive at occasions, that I had done certain things differently, that I had made different choices every now and then would be speaking falsehood. So, let me rephrase that and re-explain the previous statement.

Every now and then in life you have the feeling to stand at a crossroad. With several different defining choices. You have no idea where these choices will lead you. Personally, I feel that at this moment I’m nearing one of those crossroads, where you have to make choices. And like I usually do while progressing forward, I am looking back. In my life I have made choices which I cannot return to. I cannot re-choose my highschool and how that environment there has shaped me. I have already walked one road and with that experience it has changed the second road too. However, I do wonder, what if I’d gone to a different educational environment, met different people, found myself inspired by other persons. How different would I be? I remember that in the Harry Potter series once remarked that our abilities are not what defines us, but our choices. I see some truth in that. Yet the unknown of the road not taken raises questions. You can never test yourself. You can never know which would have been a better option. There is no chance of rehearsal. This idea is beautifully expressed by Milan Kundera.

I hope sometimes that my path does not define me, I just don’t really have a second chance to walk a different one. So in the end, I better enjoy the one I walk, and when looking back I can only look with nostalgia, but it is smarter not to regret. I get to make my choices, I get to choose a path and that’s a gift. The forest is dense, I can’t see what is ahead, but I’ll try and enjoy the scenery as much as I can, and not reminiscence too much over lost paths.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference